Annihilation Clash of Destiny

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Aboard The Gluttoneria
OBJECTIVE: Interrupt the Ritual
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Darth Caedes | Darth Ayra | Revna Marr | Deonis Laythar | Darth Vinaze | Da'Razel | Dark Forces | Onrai | Darth Solipsis | Darth Carnifex | Gerwald Lechner | Srina Talon | Vireth | @open

The manifestation of Onrai did not perturb the Lord of Hunger all too much, this entity had shown to be worth his attention and his observation, be it this form or that of her... avatars, yet perhaps it was the final reveal of the Sith cloaked in shadows and mystery which drew most of his attention, while KRONOS continued to work its way through the ship's many decentralized files and backdoor systems in order to get itself a detailed lay out of the superweapon.
​

"Student."

His eyes seemed to light up ever so slightly, yet as he heard the clacking of boots on the pristine floors, they darted towards the origin of the sound, the image of a shimmering person cloaked in shadows and veiled in mystery finally began to unveil itself, as she unraveled the very mystery that she was in the eyes of the monstrous man. he hardly blinked, as yellow eyes were revealed, when mystery became reality.

A small bit of banter between the Demigod of the Anti force and the Hidden Lord drew the Lord of Hunger's attention, yet the words uttered there and then by Darth Ayra seemed to draw something from the man...or rather the monster the man had become. As the Deathstar itself was being permeated by the energy of the ritual, spreading across the battlestation like ichor from a wellspring, amplified and refined by spells and rituals, engorging on the carnage and devastation both inside and outside of the station., the Abomination within the force lifted The hand of Avaritia upwards and the pull began, the concentration of the force, bending to the will of the monster, fueling it, amplifying its presence, as this unnatural began to draw upon himself the very darkness within the station. The disruption of the ritual had already begun, and there was another who could break it if they utilized the same pull as He did.

"To deceive others, one must know when to reveal their hand, when to allow for they themselves to be belied and betrayed," A deep breath could be heard entering the Abomination's lungs, the armor heaving as his chest swelled and his arms and legs seemed to bulk up slightly. "I AM Hunger, I AM the devourer, I do not need to be at the very heart of the ritual to get what I want, I simply need to feel its energy, its unnatural draw of darkness...and now I will draw directly upon that which your pawns have so foolishly been preparing for their false sith'ari."

The air would feel heavy, practically toxic and devoid of oxygen, as the darkness swelled, the force concentrating as it entered into the monstrous man's own vessel. The ground began to warp, walls seemed to turn to wax, ceilings forgetting their function as they too started to wobble and wiggle. Everything began to twist and turn, yet did not lose its form or stability. At the center of it all, the Lord of Hunger stood, seemingly engorging himself upon the pull within the force.

"So...decide...you either bow or you bleed." It seemed these words were not meant to just the two within his vicinity, the Abomination's image, his crimson and golden eyes, the coldness of his armor and aura, it would be mentally transposed into all those close enough to the drain he had forced, those concentrating on this anomaly within the ritual... The Lord of Hunger had begun to devour...what was meant for Darth Solipsis ...

 

[Renn Vizsla]

Allies: Srina Talon | Aether Verd
Opposition: Maera Dren



The storm of fire only fed his advance. Where blaster bolts chewed the air and shrapnel clawed the floor, he moved like a juggernaut, shoulders low and rifle spitting red bursts into the defensive line. Around him, Death Watch pressed on through the killing field, their jetpacks flickering in short bursts to weave between detonations. The Imperials fought with precision, their discipline clear, but discipline was only half a war. The other half was will, and Renn carried it in every step.

Above, Squad Keld was locked into the rafters with Maera’s Besh. Sparks and shadows tangled as neither side yielded ground, a deadlock that thundered through the girders overhead. Renn knew they would not be breaking free to lend weight here. That suited him fine. Vhek shadowed him at the flank, blades ready, but Renn’s attention was already drawn to the figure cutting through the chaos ahead.

She moved differently from the others. Where her Death Troopers were a blade of unity, she was the hand that wielded it. Renn’s visor locked on the rhythm of her strikes, calculated, merciless, efficient. His warriors fell in the periphery of her path, but he didn’t waver. The Warmaster recognized the truth in her stance: this was no officer clinging to doctrine. This was a predator, sharpened by fire, standing to hold the line with her own hands.

Renn’s chest lifted with a slow breath, his voice carrying across the comms to the Death Watch pressing around him. “Flanks, hold your ground. She’s mine.” He strode through the haze, blasterfire painting his armor in strobing reds, the weight of his presence pulling Mandalorians into alignment around him.

The distance closed like a drawn bowstring. Smoke curled between them, the hangar’s alarms drowning beneath the sharper beat of their approach. Maera broke from her formation, intent and unflinching, and Renn welcomed it. His gauntleted hand tightened on his weapon before he let it fall to his side, fingers flexing as if eager for the clash.

For a heartbeat, the battle fell away. Stormtroopers screamed, blasterfire roared, jetpacks howled above, but none of it mattered. Vizsla and Maera moved into the same space, two predators circling, their soldiers pressing at the edges of a storm about to break.

Let Warriors Settle This.​

 

[Phaelissia]

Location: Chamber - Death Star III
Thread Objective: Clash of Destiny
Mission Objective: Stop the ritual.
SO: Lirka Ka Helix
GE: Da'Razel

​

Phaelissia came to a halt at the end of the passageway. Although the stormtrooper junk beast had a horrifying alacrity for its size, her own augmentations made her a blur by comparison. Not to mention, the electrical onslaught she had unleashed moments prior had further crippled it, reducing its advance to a shambling, clumsy gait.

It struggled now, a lumbering titan unable to close the distance.

Phaelissia did not grant it the opportunity. A slender arm, fingertips elegantly angled towards the monstrosity’s core. A sharp, deafening crack split the air, followed by a loud thunderclap as searing electricity exploded out from her fingers. The beast shuddered but held its ground, a chorus of pained, metallic shrieks sounding out as the durasteel plating encasing it glowed white-hot. Growling, the Aetharian fired another bolt, causing steam to rise from smoldering craters blown in its legs and torso. Pockets of the beast blistered and exploded outward in a shower of charred bone and shrapnel. She fired again, then again, blowing off a large chunk of its hastily-formed body as electricity crackled along its frame, surging along the mass of slagged E-11s.

A terrible, internal light—a brilliant, actinic white—bloomed from the cracks in the beast's chest, outlining the silhouettes of the fused stormtroopers within like a morbid X-ray. For a split second, the monster seemed to swell, its metallic shrieks cutting off into a high-pitched, building whine.

Then, it came apart.

The explosion manifested as a storm of shrapnel and lightning. The scattercannon vanished first, disintegrating into a forward-facing cone of white-hot durasteel shards, molten plastoid, and the superheated components of a dozen blaster rifles. It was immediately followed by a secondary blast as the beast's own form ruptured from the inside out.

Chunks of cherry-red durasteel plating were hurled in all directions, trailing smoke and sparks. The fused corpses within were pulverized, erupting in a cloud of blackened bone fragments and ash. A shockwave, visible as a ripple of distorted air, slammed outwards, carrying the smell of vaporized metal, ozone, and incinerated flesh.

The electrical energy, now unleashed from its containment, crackled through the debris field in a final, furious display, arcing between falling chunks of metal like a dying thunderstorm.

Where the junk beast had stood, there was only a scorched circle on the deck, raining metal and embers. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the ping of cooling shrapnel and the sizzle of dying sparks.

Phaelissia took a deep breath then and before turning and making her way deeper into the station. Before long, she found herself in a wide, expansive chamber, having since linked back up with Lirka Ka and Helix .

"A world in flames. A inferno of salvation. Blessed are they who burn, for their torment stokes the Empire eternal."

Phaelissia’s synthetic gaze swept over the four armored, shrouded cultists, their chant hanging in the air. Although she suspected that this was a tributary ritual to the primary ceremony transpiring deeper within, their efforts likely contributed to it.

She would purge them, an offering to the very fire that they so blindly worshipped, but could neither control nor understand.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Frostfire Azalea
  
  • Arms
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II - R
• Purifying Lash
• Freezing Fates II
• Cybernetics and Augmentations

 

[Vestra Tane]

Tags: Hasuras Na-Gerra Mercy Quinn Varanin Arris Windrun and more!
Opposition: Ashin Cardé Varanin
Equipment: Lightsaber, Blaster Carbine, Rebreather, Armorweave Coat, Hex Grip

The tram containing Hasuras Na-Gerra , Mercy , Quinn Varanin , and Arris Windrun ran into something that did not move. Other than what might have been a wink.

"Hail Solipsis."

The impact roused Vestra from her waking sleep. She felt the shock, the lurch forward, and leapt, Force-assisted, from the tram at the moment of the crash - right before the shock sent a few pounds of durasteel through her frontal lobe. That would've been an embarrassing death. When she inevitably kicked the bucket, the Sith wanted it to be while doing something spectacularly violent and extraordinarily ill-advised.

The Sith skidded across the durasteel flooring to a short halt. The Force helped with that, too, dispersing her inertia such that she managed to make a desperate leap to safety look trained, cool, and confident, three-point pose and all. Self indulgent? Maybe. But...

She gripped the hilt of her lightsaber in her metal hand, and twirled it anxiously. Taking a moving vehicle to the face without even flinching was on the lower end of the sorts of things Vestra expected from a former Empress.

She gave herself, maybe, fifty-fifty odds that she walked out of here without losing at least one limb. Why not be a little flamboyant?

 

[Casaana]

​

Mission: Deactivate Shields
Gear: Fighter, Naboo Armor, Blaster Pistol, Satchel of Explosives, Republic Lightsaber W/Stun Crystal

Casaana nearly cried out and came up short as the red lightsaber cut through the grated wall and through the pipes running along it. Brandyn acted quickly though, slipping around the Sith and joining her just as she was bringing her blaster up. Both men talked, she shot. Her stun blast going wide as the Jedi Shadow pulled on her to get her moving, and she quickly followed while loosing some more shots to keep their attacker in cover.

Shaking her head clear after the explosion had pushed them through the door, Casaana raised her hand and used the Force to slide the door shut again. Not that it'd really slow their pursuer. "Ugh, hallway." She pointed and pushed herself up, opening herself to the Force. Hiding hadn't seemed to help them and there as no point now. The room they were in was lined with consoles and held a center table that she vaulted across on her way to a door at the far end. "This one's a turbolift." She was already pulling the cover off the cylinder reader to get at the wiring beneath. A small part of her wondered that her hands were steady as she attached the clips running to her security override device to where the reader was wired into the turbolift. It'd take her a moment or two to spoof the lift call and spoof some type of clearance.

The fog was back, raising its head in the back of her mind again. Just like on Tython's moon when the Galactic Alliance had tried to fight off the Sith. That last terrible battle that had seen her throwing satchels of explosives at gigantic Sithspawn and using herself as a shield for other Jedi as they charged a trench line protected by heavy repeaters. Then, a Jedi Master had come to save her and her fellow Padawans as the Empire rained fire down on their own positions. She didn't think they'd get that again. Brandyn was willing to trade himself for their mission, but she wasn't sure if she was, despite knowing how many people were counting on them opening an avenue of attack for the fleet. like the Sith had taunted, they'd both need to face him to have the best chance of surviving.

Brandyn Sal-Soren Drystan Creed​

 

[Onrai]

Location: With The Lord of Hunger
Objective: Understand the Apprentice's Return
Tag: Darth Caedes Darth Ayra Revna Marr Deonis Laythar Darth Vinaze Da'Razel Dark Forces Darth Solipsis The Lord of Hunger Darth Carnifex Gerwald Lechner Srina Talon Vireth @Open

"He isn't going to do that, Master."

"You're right, he's going to do much more."

She smiled, observing as the parasitic Darksider himself began the process of siphoning the energy of the ritual. He was a target - potentially the biggest target to the Dark Empire now given how this would disrupt Solipsis's plans. And she would join him. Just as he himself began to consume the rituals power, so too did she as well, drawing the potent Force energy into herself and further reinvigorating her form as she grew less and less transparent. In a sense, she became more comfortable in holding a presence in the material world once more.

"The three of us are very close now. By days end the Maw will be broken, and the Galactic Empire will be the dominant power in the entire galaxy."

"My dear, dear Ayra. Uncompromising in your beliefs to the end. A harbinger of your truth. But you need to open your mind to the understanding of entropy, of the fact there is far more than the mere aspirations the fallen Fossk seeks to fulfill. That, and he's yet pulled by strings of things with far, far more malignant aspirations than his own." This was no attempt to inspire doubt, but the truth, if in a very vague and enigmatic way which she had zero intentions of elaborating on. "Now may be the opportunity for you to ascend past your mere position as an apprentice, to something greater than even a master."

The feast continued, the energy siphon perpetuated, the two creatures taking advantage of the profane rites to further reinvigorate themselves. A hand gently pressed against a wall in the hallway, a finger softly tapping. With a modicum of power, she began to decipher the cacophonous maze of passages and hallways that made up the battlestation. This would perhaps allow her closer access to the ritual site - and a purer feast.

 

[Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra]

DEATH STAR III​

---

"3-1-2." The digits rolled through his mind as if analyzed, considered. The moment Dynas gained access to the armor, he poured himself into every circuit and line of code. No shard of software or hardware escaped his scrutiny as he moved toward synthesis.

"I see. Very well, then—let us press on. We are allies in purpose. Onward."

As they advanced, 312's suit became noticeably more in tune with the trooper's movements; its software suite ran cleaner, more efficiently, its processing power markedly increased.

When darkness assailed them, Dynas bolstered 312 with his light, augmenting both trooper and suit. Using her peripherals as anchor points, he poured his influence into the fray—tearing through techno-beasts with his mechu-deru, forcing circuits and servos to do his bidding, all while embodied in an armored shell.

At the security room, Dynas sank into the systems 312 uncovered, parsing every file and access log, aiding in cracking and bypassing whatever defenses remained.

"The records indicate this base houses a super-weapon—akin to the planetary arms of empires past." He paused. "This is grave. We must stop its firing capability at once. It could destroy worlds."

He dug deeper, prying with equal parts precision and brute force; his silicon mind and affinity for the inorganic let him accomplish what even top-end slicer droids would struggle to do. Deeper still, he found another presence—sinister, dark—but, intriguingly, not necessarily hostile to their aim.

"I sense another entity within the systems. It bears the mark of the dark, but its objective appears aligned with ours: to stop this weapon."

312's sensors flared a bright blue as Dynas moved quickly. "Apologies, but I will transport us to the root of that presence. A joint effort may grant us a better chance. This may be bumpy—secure your digestive systems."

Space folded around them; in an instant they stood in a room identical to the one they had left—only now strewn with bodies and dominated by a looming figure of shadow.

Dynas had faced them before, an all too familiar archetype. This presence fit the Sith archetype.

"It seems our situation is more dire than anticipated if the Sith are already here," Dynas murmured into 312's systems, his voice for her ears only. "There are precedents where light and dark united against a greater threat. Their presence only underscores how critical our task is."

When 312 voiced the obvious question, Dynas answered without hesitation.

"We need to reach the core. That will be our best chance to disable this weapon."

CT-312 Darth Carnifex Scherezade deWinter
​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Death Star III

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber

Ace's head tilted back, eyes catching the red glow on the catwalk above. Ravoch stood there like some statue carved out of armor and arrogance. His voice carried through the foundry, even over the hum of machines. Like always, it was steady, deliberate, too calm for someone who'd just been in a fight. Then the comments followed.

Every word from the Sith felt like it was meant to box him in, to make him listen. He kept his lightsaber low, its light flickering across the metal underfoot. He sounded like every other bastard who thought they knew him.

He took a few steps forward into the open space. The floor hissed beneath his boots, still hot from the ruptured pipes.

"You don't know me." He finally answered, shaking his head, eyes narrowing. "And you sure as hell don't get to tell me what I need."

But the words rang hollow for a moment. Ravoch had dictated the rhythm of every exchange. The Sith never broke stride. Every attack Ace threw had been caught, countered, dismantled like it was nothing. Even now, standing above him, Ravoch looked untouched, unshaken.

A pulse of frustration cracked through Ace's focus. His breath came heavier now, shoulders rising and falling under the heat. Sweat streaked down his temple. The fight had been constant and despite his strength, his training, the bloodline that burned behind his name, he couldn't shake the creeping dread curling up his spine.

Why am I struggling? He thought.

He was a son of warriors. Of Dathomir witches and Mandalorian steel. He'd fought Sith before. He shouldn't be losing ground now. Not like this. But the thought faltered as quick as it came, crushed beneath the same unbreakable will that had carried him through his entire life. He forced his breathing steady, the burn in his chest hardening into something sharper. He refused to give this man the satisfaction of seeing weakness.

Still, Ravoch's words lingered. Temper it. Control it. That quiet promise of release... to silence the ghosts, the noise, the guilt. For just a heartbeat, Ace wondered what it might feel like to be free of it all.

Then the thought twisted, and his jaw set hard. No. The only thing a Sith offered was another chain.

The Force tightened around him again, restless, coiling through his limbs like a live wire. He raised his lightsaber, blade angled across his chest. It wasn't a challenge, but a warning.

"You want to teach me something?" His voice rasped. "Come down here and show me"

He didn't wait for an answer. His free hand snapped out, fingers curling as if gripping invisible iron. The metal above screamed in protest, bolts shearing free as he wrenched at the catwalk Ravoch stood on. The structure groaned under invisible weight, panels twisting and warping against their frame. If the Sith wouldn't come down willingly, Ace would drag him off his throne.

The blue light from his lightsaber flared against the rising shower of sparks. He wasn't going to lose.

Kyrothian Ravoch​

 

[Darth Solipsis]

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | GALACTIC EMPEROR
Throne Room
Inosuke Ashina | Romi Jade

​

The chamber yawned open as the Death Star dropped from hyperspace. Light stretched forth as lines straightened into tiny stars and distance worlds, the flow of Atrisia below spilling cold and blue across the obsidian floor. The Emperor sits as if carved from shadow itself, a statue whose gaze eats light. The doors sigh shut behind the arriving footsteps of Inosuke Ashina and Romi Jade , the sound is swallowed by the soon emergent battle beyond the great round viewport that gapes like an eye onto Atrisia's burning sky and the great void around it.

He turns his head. The throne whirling with a sound like dry bones. Ember eyes fixating on the intruders with the slow, terrible scrutiny of a predator that has watched a herd panic and break.

"You've made it so far," he says. The voice was low, bored, and sharpened like a guillotine. Each syllable laced with venom.

His fingers rest, deliberate and calm, on the arms of the throne. Around him the chamber hums, the distant heartbeat of the weapon began charging, the ritual chants echoing over speaker also from the work set before them, as smoke and strobe from the battlefield paint his features in passing flashes.

The Sith’ari inclined his head by the tiniest degree toward Inosuke and Romi, the movement is mockery dressed as courtesy.

"Come so far. Just to watch your world die."

The Emperor uncoiling like a shadow, rising from his throne. The window behind him frames a narrowing field of stars and the tiny, futile lights of fighters that swarm below, as if the galaxy itself scurried before a paw. They had all assembled to stop his plans, to halt his designs. The galaxy assembled again, and this time.. they would not stop him. For he had conquered death.

"This battle, this war," he continues, each word a deliberate toll, "..is only the beginning. I will snuff out all the Light."


When his gaze shifts to Romi, there is a flicker, not of warmth, but of ownership. "And I will take strength of the Four as my own."

The Prophecy of the Four.

He lets the words hang. They were not a threat so much as a inevitability made audible. No flourish, no show of temper, only the absolute certainty of a fate he has already decreed.

​

 

[Janus Vipsanius]

Church of the Dark Side
Death Star III | Atrisia


Darth Vinaze | Vireth | Talon Draven | Da'Razel | Shannic Wulf | Veodora Kadnessi | Derix Tirall | @Church of the Dark Side​

Within the foreboding and cavernous ritual chamber of the Death Star III, Minister Janus Vipsanius knelt with the congregation of the Sith'ari's faithful. His distinguished robes, the polished finery of a Coruscanti patrician, had been abandoned for that of a cloak of deep violet. Hood drawn low, he was but one voice among the robed faithful of the Church of the Dark Side, their chants rising in unison, the newfound heartbeat of the Battle Station.


Above them, a colossal apparatus throbbed with malignant energy, arcs of violet lightning snaking across the shrine. The Emperor's voice bled through the comms, echoing the language of the Sith in incantations that reverberated through the steel walls, each syllable heavy with the weight of what was to come. Janus's lips moved in perfect synchrony, his voice trembling with reverence and fanaticism.


"Pro terror, pro mirtis, pro xela. Tave storii sekleti pradzia."


The chant reached a fever pitch until the Emperor's voice ebbed, replaced by the deathly intonation of Darth Vinaze, the Dark Prophet, at the ritual's epicenter. Shadows seemed to pool unnaturally about him, his form backlit by the violent surges of power that lashed at the chamber. Janus pressed his forehead to the cold obsidian floor, whispering prayers not as a statesman but as a supplicant, his words merging with the chorus:


"Through terror, through death, through pain. The storms shall rise.".


He raised his hands toward the shrine, his cloak falling back to reveal pale fingers shaking with zeal. The chamber quaked as the ritual began. Outside, heroes would come to strike at them, to interrupt their great work. But within this sanctum, Janus knew no fear.


Only faith.


Only the will of the Sith'ari.


The dark techno beasts would hold the enemy at bay, or at least slow them. As the chaos grew closer, Janus began to fear that their plan was under the knife, running against the clock to produce..

Storms.

 

[Matsu Ike]

OBJECTIVES: Clash of Destiny
ALLIES: Jedi
ENEMIES: Death Star

The feelings in the force were getting stronger... primarily as more were coming. THe vibrations and ripples were on the air when she moved down the tunnel. Hands trailing on the metal to make finger grooves that had some small webs going outwards. She stopped as the sounds came to her first. Her attention going through the wall forr a moment when she walked down the hallway and stopped at a room looking this far in towards the center. "Death Star the Shoppe." She said it and looked at the consoles on the side as she went to it tapped the computer and the screen came up. "Typhojem." She raised an eyebrow at using the name of the god this certainly was not something she would have attributed to them... well maybe but less pretentious about it... the god would have also likely been there to greet all of them. The pride of the fight and all that. This was more like someone trying to use the name... and then the program was looking at her it felt like and brought up the screen she wanted with a directory of things in the area. "Oh it isn't a program here, curious." She sai it but the map and means to navigaate the station were... not there. "You would think with such a massive station a simple map to make sure you are in the correct place would be shown." She said it to herself more then anything while she was walking towards the shop she had found. THe doors showing the first gimmick as she looked at it. A pair of footprints comically placed with 'stand here'.... so she did as looking at the shop another sign said 'raise hand' She raised an eyebrow and then her hand as the doors slid open with a Whiish Whoosh and the jedi master spoke over the headset. " Connel Vanagor , Acier Moonbound ... I can move things with my mind."

She said it and vibrated the molecules to mimic a headset while she did it to privately connect to their own comlinks. Her eyes taking in the room as she walked forward into the inner areas. She looked around as the room was clean.. the deck flooring polished so that you could get a clear reflection of everything. There were alcoves with torsos showing various T-shirts and clothing. The 'I worked on the Death Star and only got this lousy shirt' was impressive as she gave a nod looking at it. She grabbed one of the death star the chocostars and looked at it as the candy shell promised crystal candy inside that was a superlaser of flavor to your mouth. She cracked one open as it said on the back of the box like cracking a planet and the smaller hard candies were tasty green candies. She adjusted it and using the small laser dish indentation as the distribution area she held it high. "You may fire when ready." She said it as she tilted the chocolate piece and the green candies came out for a moment as time slowed down looking like a solid stream of laser when it entered her mouth. Then it was over and time returned to normal... her attention to it as she swished it around in her mouth looking over more of the merchandise mostly the areas behind the counter talking about it. "Hmm the mandate is merchandise where the real credits are made to fund things." She nodded in agreement, merchandise did pay for a lot it was what Sasori used, what the Dashiells used. Well they also did a whole lot of other things as she was walking around the store and stopped to look at the vacuum sealed. "Death Star the bedsheets, Death Star the wooly socks, Death Star the summer socks, Death Star the shaving cream, Death Star the sanitation paper." She looked at it all blinking for the moment mostly surprised.

She looked at some of the other things that they had here and nodded. "Hmm looks like they are sold out of Death Star the coloring books and Death Star the vegan meat substitutes.... THis explains so much." She was looking at more of it and she could see. "Death Star the the stun blaster, Death Star the the flamethrower, Death Star the death star.... Death Star the the death star II, Death Star the death star prototpye, Death Star the tickle me Voracitos inflatable love seat, Death Star the emperor body pillow." She nodded the respect or fear. "I think I need an adult." She said it while continuing to walk through and she could feel more people were arriving... better yet she could feel the energies of more interesting things happening. Her mind racing when the battlecruiser she had sent to the system arrived and she was having it send for runs the solari fighters to aid the surface. They were based off of the design of the Atrisian fighters after all to become walkers in a battleframe. Only they were designed extensively better in some cases. Her walk through the shop brought her into the food court as she could see more places of interest. She looked for the two things the sith were supposed to be famous for cookie's and sandwiches but didn't find them. "Not even a McYoda's here... these people really are evil." She said it while walking aorund but this deep into the interior areas of the station she wasn't expecting to find much.. the majority would be looking for fights along the edges. Flying through the walls and main ways that were without heavy resistance meant she could make good time whiel looking for the crystals within the station itself.

 

[Subject 1503]

ATRISIA, CORE WORLDS
Aboard the Death Star III

Srina Talon
​

Through the immense, impenetrable haze of battle that surrounded the space around him, the Ashwalker would have been hard pressed to be distracted by anything, to focus - even for an imperceptible moment - on anything but the sensation of battle and violence that he had immersed himself within in his meditation. His focus had been wholly upon emboldening his two servants that had crashed on Atrisia itself, and on using the violence that echoed across the station, throughout space and on the planet below as a catalyst for his own meditations on the dark side, feeding the ritual that took place elsewhere aboard the station.

The only thing that could have distracted him, in that moment, was the immense, all-consuming willpower that seemed to press down upon him in a fraction of a moment. An unseen presence, a master that held a leash he seemed oblivious to, offering a simple instruction, a demand.

There were many who had landed aboard the Death Star, either through its hangars or in various boarding craft, most had been set upon by the other defenders, but there were some who - at least for a few moments now - walked unaccosted. Rising to his feet, he took hold of the newly-bled lightsaber that rested at his side and turned to leave the chamber he had occupied, isolated where it was in the depths of the station and behind layers of dense shielding. Steadily, he deactivated layer after layer as he made his way through the long hallway that led to the dimly-lit meditation chamber.

His task, his purpose, had shifted. Bolstering the ritual was no longer the task at the front of his mind, for now he had a test to pass. Aboard this station was a presence that had been thrust to the forefront of his mind, one that was Sith - a worthy opponent - and one that would ensure his own ascendancy to that order. Such were the teachings that had been burned into his mind's eye in his stasis - to become Sith, one must destroy a Sith.

And so he set out through scarred and emptied hallways, his fingers tightening on the deactivated lightsaber clutched in his hand and his focus wholly upon the mental image of white hair and a woman's visage that had been burned into his mind's eye. He knew not who she was - despite a lingering familiarity that burned at the edge of memory. All he knew, was that he would kill her.

​

​

​

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

​

WEARING: Black sith robes + some armor underneath | WEAPONS: 2x Lightsabers and The Dark Side

ALLIES: Srina Talon | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Elmindra Xitaar | Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf | Gerwald Lechner | Lina Ovmar | Aether Verd | Renn Vizsla | Warpriest Prime | Aselia Verd | Naamino Zuukamano | Haro Aven | Korda Veydran | Siv Kryze | @Anyone else in the group

OPPOSING: Ibaris Varanin

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OBJECTIVE: Interrupt The Ritual
LOCATION: The Death Star III

As they made it to Atrisia and the Kitel Phard System, her russet-hued eyes simply gazed upon it. This space station was another Death Star, something that up to this moment she had only seen in holo-recordings. And now she was seeing one in person; it almost seemed surreal to her thoughts.

Nevertheless, the implications of its existence promised a dire outcome for the rest of the galaxy, and for the Sith Order in particular. Which meant that it needed to be dealt with.

Then a voice earned her attention within her stillness as she turned toward it. It was Gerwald. The last time she saw him, it was on Echnos, when they both destroyed that Alliance commando squad under rather colorful war-torn circumstances. Looking upon him now, he had not changed a bit.

"Velda," he said as he passed near her station, his voice low but clear over the hum of the deck. "I am glad to have you with us once more."

As she listened to his words and watched him, a murderous action from the station proved her earlier musings about it accurate, as she witnessed it fire upon a ship from the corner of her eye.

And then she felt it, as if the crest of an ominous spiritual wave had washed over her. It felt like the ever-familiar cold touch of death, along with the concussion wave that raced forth and seemed to shake the glass of the viewport from which she had earlier taken her vantage point to look upon the Death Star.

However, as the wave hit the Eidolon and shook the glass, her form remained like that of an elegant statue made of obsidian stone or marble. Her dark visage remained unmoved.

Only the subtle movement of her lips seemed to curl knowingly at one corner as she watched Gerwald and heard the screams of newly dead souls sing through the Force.

Dead souls like the ones upon that ship, who only wanted freedom from the Galactic Empire.

“It is a pleasure to be in your company again, Gerwald. Although such occurrence seems to be a rather foreboding sign for our enemies indeed.”

She turned to their Empress, who extended her two words; an invitation, as if it were not already understood.

“My destiny lies within the confines of that space station, so I shall accompany you, Empress.”

She followed all who were going to the Death Star into the dropship. The dropship itself was cold in it's presentation, almost primal even within its technological construction - a transport of war, as they blasted off from the Iron Eidolon.

Within moments, the dropship had entered the confines of the Death Star. And as Velda stepped out, she found herself standing at the edge of a deep chasm.

A smile etched upon her lips as she listened to Gerwald and The Empress banter about the drop before them. “It does seem rather perilous doesn't it? But I am sure we can manage...”

She peered down into it, and it appeared to be a black abyss. Then she looked around upward and took in the rest of the space.

And with that, she jumped over the hole and used the Force on the other side to control her descent, if only because she was rather unsure of the integrity of the flooring underneath her. She landed with soft footfalls once she made it to the other side.

 

[Dark Forces]

NPC Opposition For:
Connel Vanagor
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Spoiler: tl;dr Action Summary

• Wookiee slaves emerge from the cells as Connel kills the guards and opens them
• The Houk uses the Force to pull and impale one of the freed Wookiees

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​

When the flash-bang went off, the Houk staggered backward, shielding its eyes with a meaty arm. By the time it fully cleared its senses, utter carnage had over taken the cellblock. The Jedi certainly had a predilection for making everything he wielded into as many lightsabers as he physically could - a pair of lightsabers that he held, a brace of lightsaber-knives that he threw, miniature lightsabers that he fired from his gun. Ordinary Imperial troopers could hardly stand against one lightsaber, let alone a dozen various forms of them flying through the air.

Most of the troopers didn't even get a chance to shoot before Connel annihilated them.

This, the Houk reflected, was why the Jedi - and all Sith rivals to his master - must be exterminated. They were an unbalancing force in the universe, individuals who could break armies without breaking a sweat. How could there be peace and order and stability when these beings, each of them a little demigod amongst fragile mortals, all sought to impose their conflicting visions and ambitions on the galaxy? No, they must all die, and their teachings be utterly erased, in order to usher in the Golden Age of Emperor Fossk - the Era of Solipsis, purified by fire.

The Houk could do little to stop Connel from annihilating the detention console...

... and freeing the ragged, malnourished, mangy Wookiees inside.

Considerable time had passed since the Black Sun Syndicate had taken control of Kashyyyk and launched slave raids secretly benefitting the Empire. In the time since then, many of the victims of those raids had lived and died aboard the station, forced to help construct it as it hung in secret anchorage over Had Abaddon. These cells were among the many home to the enslaved Wookiees - shackled, shock-collared, drugged, and barely fed enough to survive. They staggered unsteadily out of their cells, their eyes smarting, their warbling language confused.

They had little time to adjust before Connel was pressing guns into their furry hands.

"Making soldiers of slaves, are we, Jedi?" the Houk snickered, amused by the predictable nature of its foe. "Fine. If you want them to be combatants..." it raised a meaty fist, seizing one of the Wookiees with the Force. "... then I will treat them as such." The Sovereign Protector pulled the howling Wookiee through the air, extending one lightsaber like a spearpoint. The Wookiee slammed into the outstretched blade, which punched through its hairy chest and out its back. It let out a mournful howl as the scent of charred fur and seared flesh filled the room.

Then it went limp, and the Houk let it drop. "More pain, more death. That is what the Emperor desires."

"At every turn, you oblige him. How considerate." It sneered at Connel, lips pulled back.

 

[Eira Dyn]

Equipment: Lethal Pursuers, vibro-sword, blaster pistol, mask
Outfit: Assassin Attire
Tag: CT-312 | Quinn Varanin | Riven | Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra

Before:

The mission was to find information about this location that they were going to be heading towards. No description of what the location was going to be but clearly it was going to be dangerous, crucial to the Galactic Empire and crucial in bringing down those that dared to rival the Sith Order. Those that dared to rival her Master. Eira was all too glad for the opportunity to bring them down, to ensure they failed. That her blade would cut their weak desires.

Even though it had been barely audible, Eira was grinning behind her mask as she heard CT-312 huffing amusingly at Eira’s comment. It was a good sign that her joke went over well, and that she was building a positive repertoire. Eira needed to find people that she could trust and rely on to work with on missions. Especially if Eira was eventually going to be more on dangerous and risky missions.

Eira tapped her foot as she was feeling impatient in getting to the location so the mission could start. That was always the most frustrating part. The lull before the mission began. The quietness that a person felt as they prepared to do what needed to be done.

Now:

Stepping off the ship, into the hangar, Eira kept close to Quinn. She watched as others figured out the ways to continue their path forward, Eira waited until her Master got on and then boarded herself. Hearing Quinn stating that Eira didn’t have to worry about the Sith Lord, the young assassin wanted to scoff at the notion. All she did was worry about Quinn’s safety. The Sith Lord seemed too reckless for her own good. There had been too many missions where Quinn’s life was in danger or she was being hunted down by others since she was viewed as the biggest threat.

It was a sign of respect, sure, but Eira also knew that meant that she needed to step up and be more dangerous. Cover the weaknesses of her Master so that no one would even dare attempting to harm Quinn. Being told to not worry was an impossibility. “If I stop worrying about you, either I am dead or something has gone deeply wrong.” Eira stated in a soft tone, her true voice coming through in that moment. So Quinn could realise how earnest the statement was from the assassin.

Quinn ordered the two soldiers to work and there was resistance to the intrusions from the group, Eira placed her hands on the specially designed daggers. Tapping as Eira assessed whether she wanted to join into the fray. The assassin was better in close range but her daggers were designed to be throwable and use the Force to recall them. Her red eyes sharply scanned over the differing forces. Wondering how both the soldiers would handle things, but CT-312 had shown herself to be a fierce soldier so Eira had to place trust that this was not a numbers game against the pair.

Stepping onto the tram, there was a feeling of dread building within Eira. There was something about the tram that didn’t feel safe at that moment. Something that felt looming before Eira, however, there was nothing that she could see that enforced that mentality.

At least there was nothing in the initial moment that signalled to Eira danger.

Then the tram began to shake, break and explosions were happening around them. “Damn… I knew there was a bad feeling with this tram…” Eira stated quietly to herself.

What happened next surprised Eira most of all, she watched as 312 handed over a gun, looking towards Eira then Quinn before preparing to leap off. “Wait… I thought we were a team! CT!” But the soldier was gone. Heading off on her own mission without them. There was a sad sigh, losing a trusted member of the group, it meant that Eira had to step up even more. Had to work harder on keeping Quinn safe. The future of the empire was standing beside her and Eira couldn’t be the cause of that going awry.

Feeling the presence of Ashnin, Eira felt her grip on her daggers tightened, ready to leap into action and fight beside her Master. As the apprentice, she expected that this was going to be a fight that they would do together. But Quinn told her and the other soldier to continue with the mission. Forcing Eira to reflect on the fact that as much as she wanted to fight, as much as she wanted to leap into action and keep her Master safe from harm. This was not a fight she could help with. It was not a mission that Eira would be contributing positively towards. A resentment of her failing skills in the moment burned with her.

Looking over to Riven, “let’s go. We are only going to get in the way here.” Eira stated, her red eyes flickered back towards Quinn. A deathly stare, one demanding that Quinn did not die here. That she did not leave Eira. For Eira to obey this command, it was taking everything. If Quinn got seriously hurt or captured, Eira would never forgive herself. Would never allow herself to have a moment of peace.

Slow, reluctant steps moved Eira away from the pair, it was CT-312 abandoning them, then leaving Quinn behind… This team was losing a person with every attempted step forward. Who was going to end up being next. Was this unknown soldier beside her going to disappear at a critical moment? Was Eira going to have to make a sacrifice and stay behind to deal with something? Eira wasn’t even sure the direction that she was needing to go in.

Information. Something on this station. Something on the Galactic Empire. Something about preventing this supposed super weapon from activating or being used. That was something to focus on now. That was something that Eira could fixate on. Not the fighting. Not the fact that they were half the team they were meant to be.

Not the fact that she was not the Sith that should still be charging forward in this group. Quinn shouldn’t have stayed behind. She was stronger… She was smarter. Eira was just this feral assassin. What good was she going to be in trying to gather information? The feral assassin was still trying to comprehend the written language. What if she missed something because she didn’t think it would be important or grabbed something irrelevant because she couldn’t understand it fully.

Why was she still here?

“Hopefully you have some skills in hacking. It was not my strong suit but we still need to find some terminal or core to gain access to the information that my Master wanted.” Eira mentioned as she attempted to drag her fears into control. Tugging them into becoming something useful for her to use as a weapon.

There had to be a terminal or console around that they could attempt to splice their way into.

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael moved between the beds, checking vitals and binding what wounds he could with the supplies at hand. The room still hummed faintly with the sound of the station's heart — a deep, metallic pulse.

He glanced toward Lilianna. "You're right about what's coming," he murmured, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. "When the killing starts, no one's going to care who's wearing what color. They'll torch everything that breathes."

The Jedi drew in a slow breath, his hand brushing the comm on his belt. Static filled the room, followed by the faint cackle of a familiar voice.

"Korda," Kael said over the channel, his tone calm but urgent. "I've got noncombatants — wounded Imperials and one high-value civilian. We'll need a way out when your 'party favors' go off."

He paused, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose as if steadying himself. "I don't care if it's a shuttle, a cargo drop, or a hole in the hull big enough to fly through. I just need it clear. You can make that happen?"

Korda's laughter rippled back through the static like sparks on an open wire. Kael sighed softly. "I'll take that as a yes," he muttered under his breath.

Turning back to Lilianna, he shrugged off the rest of his cloak, draping it over a shivering soldier on the nearest cot. The tattoos across his chest and arms caught the medbay light — marks of faith, of battles, and of sins best left buried.

"Help's coming," he said gently to her. "Not the kind you're used to… but the kind that gets you out alive. That's all that matters right now."

The comm crackled again, a distant echo of Korda's voice — amused, reverent, dangerous. Kael looked up toward the sound, a faint, weary smile tugging at his lips.


"Just keep your fireworks timed right, brother," he said quietly. "I'm still inside the blast radius."

Lilianna L'lerim Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda's fingers danced over the priming nodes of another shaped charge, his grin bright enough to burn through the dark. The hum of the station pulsed in rhythm with the beat of his heart — alive, trembling, waiting. A child on Life Day, unwrapping the promise of holy fire.

Then Kael's voice cut through the comms.

For a heartbeat, Korda froze. The faint chuckle that followed was sharp, disbelieving — the kind that came from someone halfway between joy and irritation.

"Well, I'll be kriffed," he muttered, clicking the last seal into place and tapping his helmet comm. "Kael, you mad di'kut. Didn't even know you were on this rust heap. You helping Imperials now? Guess madness does run thicker than blood."

He laughed again, the sound low and ragged but sincere. "Fine. I'll get you your hole in the hull. But you owe me a drink — a good one. None of that station swill."

Switching channels, he exhaled, his tone shifting into something almost reverent as he addressed the others. "Lady Prime, War Priestess Prime… Aether," he said, straightening. "Seems I'm called elsewhere — an old friend's got himself neck-deep in wounded Imperials. I'll need to secure a shuttle, make sure none of you get caught in the fireworks."

He took a step back, gloved fingers brushing the last explosive charge he'd planted. For a moment, he smiled behind the visor — not for the destruction to come, but for the purpose it gave him. "The party's still going to be grand," he added softly, "just might need to bring the shuttle for an encore."


With that, he turned down the corridor, boots striking metal in a steady rhythm as his comm light flickered green. "Hold tight, Kael. I'll carve you that exit — and maybe a song or two to go with it."

Kael Varnok Warpriest Prime Aether Verd

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

FOOD: Darth Avida

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The Force bellow ripped through the corridor as Darth Avida was thrown back like a discarded puppet. But to Krasskorr the impact was a disappointment, as the crunch he sought was replaced by the muffled hollow impact of her body against the wall, followed by her immediate unnatural rebound.

She had not yet been vanquished; rather, she was eager for the conflict to escalate into something even more intense. He recognized that this was no ordinary adversary, for they possessed the strength and training necessary to endure severe injuries. Typically, he would rush forward to close the gap and engage in close combat, but her lightsaber could effortlessly slice through his protective scales.

He closed the gap in two heavy, earth-shaking strides, arriving before her fully upright, the massive shadow of his form swallowing her smaller silhouette. While his blade was a weaknesses in terms of overall leverage, his claws and teeth were not.

With a minor application of Enhance Attribute, his speed was boosted to the point of a much smaller opponent. As he launched a raking strike with his left claw, a powerful, open-handed slash aimed not at a fatal wound, but at the center of her mass.

It was a brutal, non-lethal attack meant only to disrupt her balance, to crush the air from her lungs and break her concentration.

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

"I would have thought you better than to follow a man who believes he's a god."

"Why do you follow Ibaris everywhere?"

"You're in my way. Don't become a stepping stone to my rise to the throne, Mother."

"If you don't leave now, I'll make sure to carve my way through you."

To speak of quixotic puckish irony, to explain, to justify, to lay out the benefits of this moment, would ruin the opportunities. There were two opportunities. The first was to put her daughter to a genuine test, give her a chance to take herself up a level and make herself more fit for her own ambitions. The second was less sensible, more visceral: when would Ashin ever have the chance again to cut loose inside a Death Star? (She'd had that chance long ago and squandered it.)

Ashin adjusted the black armorweave cloak over her shoulders and snugged its brooch, a piece of Naboo electrum finery. Everything in its place, a contrast of control against the chaos of the tram impact. The others — Mercy , Hasuras Na-Gerra , Arris Windrun , Vestra Tane — might engage or might move on in some way, respecting Quinn's claim.

Ashin detested predetermined outcomes, controlled scenarios. The future was its own business.

"My motives are not what you assume, Quinn," she said, "but you owe me no trust. So carve away."

The lightsaber that hissed to life was a new one, very simple, with a natural burnt-orange Sarlacc's Eye crystal at its heart.

 

[Mercy]

Mercy's eyes flicked past Quinn - just in time to see the shape rushing toward them or rather, the tram rushing toward her.

A single heartbeat of warning, then impact.

The world howled. Metal screamed and split like it was made of paper. Mercy threw the Force around herself in reflex, shaping the same impossible resilience that had let Ashin stand unmoved against the storm. The tram folded in on itself, rails tearing free, momentum wrenching the world into chaos.

She caught Arris by instinct, one arm locking around the smaller woman's shoulders, shielding her from the worst of it as they were flung through a blur of steel and gravity. Later, she'd tease Arris about it. For now, the only thing that mattered was survival.

The wreck groaned and came to rest. Dust drifted through the air like burnt snow. Mercy rose from the ruin, breath steady.

"Hail Solipsis." Ashin Cardé Varanin said.

The words cut through the static, sharp enough to draw blood. Mercy's lip curled. Of course she'd say that - poke at them, provoke the reaction. And Quinn, predictably, took the bait.

Mercy wanted to step forward too. To test herself against her old Master, to see how far she'd come. The temptation simmered under her skin like a pulse of heat. But she knew better.

She brushed ferrite dust off her shoulder, letting her arm fall from Arris. "I know better than to get in the middle of a daughter's quarrel with her mother." The tone was flat, edged with dry humor. Few would catch the irony behind it - if Mercy had a mother, it was Ashin, not the woman who'd birthed her.

But unlike Quinn, she had nothing left to prove. Their last encounter had already ended with understanding and a smidgen of respect passed from one to the other.

"We press on," she said finally, turning toward the ruin of the corridor. "She can handle this."

Her gaze slid to Gerra. "Can you rip open a gate to your contact? We can walk, but I'd rather not waste the time."

Arris Windrun | Quinn Varanin | CT-312 | Vestra Tane | Hasuras Na-Gerra

ATTN: Darth Solipsis | Remus Adair | Meliant | Deonis Laythar